[18 / 2 / 1]
Quoted By: >>6146987
**Chapter 1: Blood and Ashes**
It was early dawn when the abbess had roused us. I was still rubbing rheum from my eyes when we'd unceremoniously shuffled out of sullen halls of St. Elise— the orphanage I'd spent the 16 years and three seasons of my life— and into a truck, cramped and packed with about two-dozen or so prospective soldaten for the Emethian war-horde.
The gruel we'd eaten early in the morn stung acrid at the back of my throat for each lurching turn we took towards Raubzpich. I was doing my best not to stain my clothes, pressing my face into my moth-eaten rucksack with the little belongings I still had. I remember the deafening pitter-patter of rain against canvas, the flickering shadows cast by the singular swaying oil lamp illuminating the cabin, and the occasional flash of lightning that burned through my eyelids before the boom of thunder would rattle my bones. When we'd arrived at our destination, they said it was only noon, but the storm had blocked out the sun, and I could scarcely avoid tripping over my worn shoes as we were herded into the fort, a lumbering crowd of children no older than eighteen, shivering and smelling of rain trudging through the mud, following the lights of the officers like giant silken moths.
We were first forced to relieve ourselves of our belongings, then our hair, then our clothes. After that, we were *inspected*.
No, measured. Holes violated, eyes, ears, teeth, and gums scrutinized, dark blood drawn and spit collected into twin glass vials. The crook of my elbow still stung when we were forced into the showers, as the mage who'd drawn my blood took a sample of my humors twice after the first needle had bent painfully into my flesh.
I shuffled under a waiting showerhead, averting my eyes from the nude forms of conscripts readily chatting away around me, preferring to stare at the blotches of scarlet rushing down my skin, between the tiles, and into the drain. I reached out, fingers grazing the copper dial, twisting it slowly. My eyes fluttered shut as a torrent of warmth surged over my skin, driving the chill from my bones. St. Elise didn't have warm baths, just a rag and a bucket you had to draw water from the well outside yourself.
I wasn't quite sure if I could get used to the life as a conscript just yet, but this was a definite plus.
1/3
It was early dawn when the abbess had roused us. I was still rubbing rheum from my eyes when we'd unceremoniously shuffled out of sullen halls of St. Elise— the orphanage I'd spent the 16 years and three seasons of my life— and into a truck, cramped and packed with about two-dozen or so prospective soldaten for the Emethian war-horde.
The gruel we'd eaten early in the morn stung acrid at the back of my throat for each lurching turn we took towards Raubzpich. I was doing my best not to stain my clothes, pressing my face into my moth-eaten rucksack with the little belongings I still had. I remember the deafening pitter-patter of rain against canvas, the flickering shadows cast by the singular swaying oil lamp illuminating the cabin, and the occasional flash of lightning that burned through my eyelids before the boom of thunder would rattle my bones. When we'd arrived at our destination, they said it was only noon, but the storm had blocked out the sun, and I could scarcely avoid tripping over my worn shoes as we were herded into the fort, a lumbering crowd of children no older than eighteen, shivering and smelling of rain trudging through the mud, following the lights of the officers like giant silken moths.
We were first forced to relieve ourselves of our belongings, then our hair, then our clothes. After that, we were *inspected*.
No, measured. Holes violated, eyes, ears, teeth, and gums scrutinized, dark blood drawn and spit collected into twin glass vials. The crook of my elbow still stung when we were forced into the showers, as the mage who'd drawn my blood took a sample of my humors twice after the first needle had bent painfully into my flesh.
I shuffled under a waiting showerhead, averting my eyes from the nude forms of conscripts readily chatting away around me, preferring to stare at the blotches of scarlet rushing down my skin, between the tiles, and into the drain. I reached out, fingers grazing the copper dial, twisting it slowly. My eyes fluttered shut as a torrent of warmth surged over my skin, driving the chill from my bones. St. Elise didn't have warm baths, just a rag and a bucket you had to draw water from the well outside yourself.
I wasn't quite sure if I could get used to the life as a conscript just yet, but this was a definite plus.
1/3
